“There will be one time when I pick my child up it will be the last and I won’t even know it.”

A thought like this could quietly light the fuse that quick burns and blasts me into a deep state of depression. Were I not 41 and entirely used to it, a thing that could render me unable to move for a number of days. Instead I shrug my shoulders and bear the brunt force of it, keeping it to implosion vs explosion.

In millennial terms “I can’t even.”

These moments of motherhood insist on daily mini heartbreaks. Sadness and joy, gratitude and cuts-to-the-bone all canoodling about on a regular basis.

A simple gesture, the way a hair falls out of place, the serious protest in a specific tiny face, the gait of a walk are all things that are so full of hope, a love so unlike any other, the way a mom sees her kid. It’s crushing and beautiful.

Time lapses around these little hints of My Child is where life is magical and fleeting.

It’s ground dividing into two – gratitude or emotional death. There is no in between. These moments are what give me life.

If my children, no matter how big, were injured of course I’d immediately snap into some kind of super hero strength to carry them as far or as long as required. This, however, is not the same kind of carry that is habitually toting them on a regular basis.

The first day I was alone with Puppy wasn’t nerve-wracking. I had been here before but with baby humans.

Any parents who try and make it seem like a puppy isn’t remotely the same thing as a baby is lying to you. If you want to dip a toe into the waters of parenthood then a puppy is the perfect place to start.

Over the months this tiny alien furball who existed only to nap on my lap gave way to a bigger puppy. In the beginning, my hands are able to reach the keyboard and work for hours without disrupting the puppy snoozefest occurring on my lap. Unable to understand his growth and my lap’s lack of, Puppy began huffing and shifting frustrated at the inability of his body to fit. It was both heartbreakingly adorable and heartbreaking.

I guess there was a last time Puppy lap napped and I don’t remember it because it never happens anymore.

When Puppy was xtra-small I awakened at night to whimpering and received visceral flashbacks of nightly disruptions, a nod to the stringing together of 4 years of pregnancy and nursing.

During this time, in light of day I was back to a modified shuffling zombie experience, the distant echo of full-blown newborn motherhood. Through this I earned the feelings of elation gifted to me when waking up to a romping little innocent baby dog, cuter than I could imagine. Another level is reached (still) when I see my children-formerly known-as-babies, now have an alarm clock of puppy licks to their faces.

If I could bottle up what it feels like to drop a puppy onto my kids’ beds in the morning I’d deal it out, you’d all be hooked for life and I’d be rich.

And although the shop’s been closed for years, when I see mothers and sons I know there is a specific experience there that is lovely. Aside from the fact that he is not human, having a boy puppy does stir up a different feeling for me.

My kids embrace the tasks of caretaking and adore their little dog-brother. The children don’t balk at taking him out or feeding him, they weirdly LOVE picking up his poop and entertain him for hours. If only I had their help with themselves when they were babies.

Puppy is turning into a good little dog. It is clear that when he reaches adulthood and beyond he is not our protector at all. He can’t Dog in that way. As I watch him sprawled fully on his back, torso exposed, heavily sleeping through any knock on the door it is clear that we will have to look out for him.

Puppy is a cuddler of the tallest order, pressing his compacted strong fuzzy body into my stomach when he sleeps, the upper half of his drowsy body crushing his human-sisters’ laps while we watch TV. When this happens and the oldest kids is bursting with pee she insists on transferring Puppy’s body to a stunt double lap because “mom, you can’t ever move away when a puppy is sleeping on you.” Puppy regularly puts his face in ours looking for kisses and hugs and never not lazily pees on his own foot.

The nuances of each individual puppy (or child) are reminders that even though it can feel like we are worthless, invisible and un-affecting in the mass chaos the evidence begins to stack that all those feelings are kind of a lie. In our lives each of us have a great impact on those who know us, for better or worse. Motherhood is a moment-to-moment reminder of this. With bright shiny eyes watching and tiny hands in ours we have to be things we maybe feel impossible to be.

Yesterday Puppy was fixed, had a baby tooth extracted and a benign lump on his neck removed. He was gone the full day and as I worked my anxiety bubbled just beneath the surface. When we picked him up the staff at the vet’s were doting on Puppy and in sweet voices told us what a good boy he is.

As the instructions for post-op care were given, my mom-auto-pilot clicked in. It is a gear I am forced to use often.

Introversion, social anxiousness plus a whole bunch of other shit – it turns out – are things you can shut down if the situation is deemed important enough.

When it comes to my children I have said and done things unfathomable previously. All fears and reservations are dropped if it means helping, protecting or simply giving my children experiences that I deem valuable in all life realms. Anything from real deep learning moments to doing something FUN (I’m lookin’ at you, theme park ride lines) are on the menu regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me.

Aside from knowing I’d without hesitation literally have my arm cut off with a rusty, dull Swiss Army knife for my kids I seem to forget the last time my arms were able to carry my own overgrown unhelpful tendencies.

It is suggested that one must step outside of their comfort zone to properly grow, to make real change, to feel fulfilled, to do great things, to BECOME a person of value, TO REACH THE PLACE WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS!

If being uncomfortable IS the comfort zone, what then?

The key to progression in the practice of long distance trail running seems to be mentally falling into the “suffering is optional” space. There will be pain but how much one mentally engages in it is what will dictate personal success. Or to paraphrase some quote I know I heard somewhere – “In racing the furthest distance to travel is between the ears.”

When I say “success” please know I mean it to be relative to us as individuals. My race stats are far from impressive. My physique is for sure a display case of the baked goods I consume alongside a zero limit policy on coffee intake. Some people who trail run are hitting top-finisher status. The rest of us average hobbyists have personal goals which at large seem unimpressive but to us are of massive importance.

A few years ago I decided that in trail running the thing I loved most was the climb. I wanted to get better at the uphill so started doing more and more hill repeats.

The pain of chugging up a steep incline provides a comfort in it’s simplicity and forces me to acknowledge the work I am putting in. Never being able to catch my breath, the frustration of methodically taking each step by each step and despite it all, feeling like I am moving nowhere is a thing I find very comfortable.

Turning around to chop down the same hill isn’t a reward, it’s a task in anxiety management. Taking each step carefully but as quickly as possible, my anxiety hitting the ceiling is something I find comforting.

Since I’ve become comfortable with suffering within my hill repeat routine therefore can’t seem it improve. Or rather – the familiarity of my current discomfort has become comfortable.

I physically give what I perceive to be my all but the results show this not to be the case and I’ve hit a plateau in my specific discomfort zone. This by no stretch means I am “tough” it means I can’t mentally seem to access the places I need to in order to dig in for a deeper sense of pain. It’s frustrating. I want things to hurt more but can’t seem to Woman Up in order to get there.

I don’t know how to push “difficult” into more difficult and I now understand that discomfort for me these days is different than it used to be. Albeit it good news to learn I’ve faced some things head on it also results in a purgatory of mundane tribulation that feels impassable.

On some podcast I heard Amy Dresner say something about how she used to meditate and it changed everything in a positive way, she felt amazing, it made her life infinitely better so naturally she quit the practice of meditation.

I once gave up caffeine for 8 months and I never felt better in my entire life. It was glorious freedom, the apex of personal mental wellness that I was searching for and FINALLY found. Then one day, on a whim, I decided coffee is the drug for me and feels masochistically better than that sense of balance. Fast forward 4 years of over-caffeination by way of coffee and I now even have this tattoo to commemorate my adoration of it:

Trail running at an easy pace feels wildly uncomfortable for me. In general, I do not redeem comfort out of the practice of feeling well. This does not mean I am fast, it means at best I am erratic in pacing and at worst taking my running far too seriously. None of this is conducive to becoming a better trail runner.

As much as I roll my eyes at the metaphors and analogies between running and life outside of it, these observations are unavoidable and truthfully the real reason I run at all.

There is a miss in the message of “get comfortable with discomfort” because it’s entirely subjective as to what we define as uncomfortable.

Changing my results in trail running means changing life outside of it and that is the most difficult challenge of all. How to push through the ease of dis-ease on multiple levels is the biggest question of my life. My being WANTS to feel terrible so how do I learn to associate feeling comfortable with, well, feeling comfortable?

My run of choice is long distance trail and this can be hard on my body.

If you run enough, you likely will get knocked out of the game with injuries. I would argue that getting injured and working through it is part of the training process.

Being sidelined with an injury opens up an exploratory mental space that is invaluable to running. It checks your ego, it reminds you how fortunate you are to be able to run at all and nods to the pure fact that none of us are promised a thing. We are not entitled to health or running or life or any of it.

I am currently injured and it’s been quite a journey to cobble treatments together to get back out running. I will spare details here and jump to what I do when I can’t run. I consciously use my run down time to work on things that will help my running once I return – the things I often neglect in training and probably contributed to my current state of less-than-healthy.

Rest – I sleep a much as I can because I love it so much AND it helps the healing process.

Eat better – I no longer eat whatever I want – I make an effort to eat cleaner foods and hydrate a ton.

Cross train – I vary safe workouts. Strengthening the body is key to maintaining fitness, building confidence and not going insane.

Keep moving – If walking is safe, I wear my Garmin every day to track my steps.

Listen to my body – weirdly, not running makes me highly attuned to what is going on with my body and I practice paying attention to it and is a crucial tool to avoiding injury in the future. I pay attention during my workouts and try out a slow, short jog to see how things feel. I mostly consider how I feel mentally and physically when I am not running.

Projects – I take the extra time I have to work on photography, writing, organizing my house. Right now it’s updating my portfolios, this blog and this.

Re-evaluate – I think about why I run and why I do it. I consider my goals and map out next steps for what my body can handle safely. I re-commit to the parts of running that are manageable for me in my current state. I set new, realistic goals that I am excited about – even if that goal is to do a short, slow track run.

Submit – Short of a brief little internal pity party I shut up about what’s going on and remember that there is always a chance running (or anything) can be taken away at a moment’s notice. I visualize getting back out there and try to accept setbacks with grace. I don’t throw tantrums or whine about how much it sucks because it doesn’t, I am learning and growing in this space of injury. I don’t get jealous of other people reaching their goals and I go to races and support my fellow runners. Running is a luxury and to be able to have the means to dedicate time to it is a hardcore reminder I am a very fortunate person.

On Memorial Day Weekend I was struck with an illness so bad that I questioned how I ever thought I could’ve been sick before. Surely I had misdiagnosed the minor discomforts of past random colds and flus as being “sick” because what I was experiencing was so bad, it paled any ailments that ever came before it.

This mass of invaders worked their way around my entire neck and head in a slow, meticulous fashion. Starting in my throat, a pain so deep and searing I felt like I could black out from it.

I pushed through the weekend and come Monday morning I was so not well that my hands and feet started peeling massive amounts of skin. Imagine when you are a kid and put Elmer’s Glue on your palms and peel it off but do that 20 times and it’s your actual skin. I admit it was a little bit fun. Gross, disturbing fun.

In between peeling my hands I happened to press around my throat and discovered a hard, small brazil-nut-sized lump on the right side just beneath my jaw line and guessed it was a swollen lymph node from being so sick. I already hated this thing because brazil nuts in a mixed nut can are the lazy co-workers who don’t do dick and take all the credit. I had never had one of these lymph nodes swell up before. My trusty ol’ compatriot, Denial (who is OUTSTANDING at his job) got right to it as I avoided Google searching my ailments like I do a ringing phone.

I do, however, promptly make an appointment with Dr. V. Like many people I am hesitant to trust the medical system but Dr. V. is my guy. He is young, smart and has earned my faith in a way that most people can’t.

Upon inspection Dr V. determines that yes, I have an ear and sinus infection so antibiotics are in order and then some cream for my hands. The lump, that is a swollen lymph node from being sick and will subside within 2-3 weeks. Good job self-diagnosing, Shannon! Fuck you, Google. You don’t know shit!

Here I will try and shorten the rest of the story. I was ultimately sent to the Ear Nose and Throat Dr., had a few more rounds of antibiotics, a 7th-circle-of-hell-ear canal suction-thing (not the technical term but should be) then 2 rounds of steroids.

Steroids, to my disappointment, did not turn me into Usain Bolt as expected but instead left me as a crying puddle of a mess over little things like discovering I accidentally left a wet load of wash in the machine for too long and had the overwhelming task of rewashing it. So you could say steroids turned me into a hot mess of Olympic proportions.

After a month and a series of Dr’s appointments the swollen lymph node never went away.

I was then sent for an ultrasound and biopsy. I didn’t tell anyone about this and made it seem casual to my boyfriend. “It’s no big deal!” I tell him and myself. I quietly sneak off alone to get it done.

If life were a boring-ass baseball game (AKA every baseball game), here is where I am at the plate.

Strike one: When I check-in for the biopsy and they put a medical bracelet on me and I feel my stomach drop. In my massive effort to do all things on my own, stubbornness and lack of need for anything from anyone left me with this thought: “you should have asked someone to be here for this”.

Newsflash: having a crazy-long needle headed right for the jugular is a scary, scary thing. As the techs were chatting and talking like we were having overpriced lattes at Starbucks, I was doing my best impression of a person who I imagine has minimal anxiety issues. I have no idea exactly what a person like this acts like but I pull my best Meryl Streep and I think the techs buy it. I feel like I am giving an Oscar speech as I casually talk weather with the nurse while she wipes the ultrasound goo off my neck in preparation for the needle presentation.

Meryl, Why You so Hot?!

Eventually I get the call that this lump is not cancerous but the ultrasound revealed a tumor and although the biopsy shows it’s benign, this mass needs to be removed and lies within my salivary gland. WTF, body? Who gets a tumor there? Could you be more random?

The surgery I will undergo is called a Partial Perotidectomy. The main risk in this is facial paralysis on the afflicted side of the face because the salivary gland hangs out right on the main facial nerve.

Stirke 2: When I get the news, I promptly cry for about 5 minutes then chalk this situation up to old lady stuff. This is what happens when you turn 40. Cue *Denial soft-shoeing with a cane across the stage *. This surgery, like the biopsy, it is no big deal (clearly I haven’t improved my swing since Strike 1). I think “Although we are all dying a little each day, I’m not dying DYING. I mean, I am ALIVE, Man.”

Strike 3: Through all of this I would kid/not kid with Dr’s by saying things like: “Not to brag * brushes shoulder off* but I don’t get sick, ever”. They laughed. I laughed. Then we all laughed and laughed our way to the operating table.

The Umpire calls: “You’re out!” – Ok, fine, it is here I began to admit 2 things:

1 – Mayyyybe I feel a bit too entitled to good health

2 – I mayyyyy be a bit more vain than I thought

At this point I wasn’t yet fully convinced these 2 things could be 100% negative life philosophies. I mean, they had to have some value, somehow, right?

Then on Monday I had my face cut open.

Being the Sultan of good heath, naturally I was shocked to discover that I took this whole operation thing far too lightly. I believed I was untouchable and this silly surgery thing would be a quick chore to get through like taking out the trash or cleaning my bathroom.

I was HELLA wrong.

My vanity had me reeling when I now see my face swell up to epic proportions, a gash, knotted scar around my ear and on my neck gave way to my new face shape I like to call “Sloth” from Goonies. I make a mental note to Pinterest my searches for “best haircuts for Sloth shaped faces”. It is at this point I won’t allow my boyfriend to come see me in the hospital.

Sloth – A Visual Reference

In relationships people struggle with their baggage and the big rolling bag I bring to ours is my inability to be vulnerable. To have my strapping, hot boyfriend see me in a hospital gown, no make up, face looking like Frankenstein and body slowly limping like The Hunchback of Notre Dame while dragging an IV pole to the bathroom was unfathomable to me.

And here again…I was HELLA HELLA wrong.

Shit.

Authenticity is ineffective if you only apply it selectively. I began to feel pretty garbage-y for disregarding this fact.

Now it’s Saturday and I am in pain, have no feeling in much of my ear and some of my face, everything is swollen and I have a scar residing around my ear and jaw area. I keep making “My face hurts, it must be killing you!” jokes.

All of this is supposed to subside. I also can’t chew for the time being which leads me to trolling and pinning Pinterest recipes like a porn addict would but for food. Yes, I am feeling Pinterest these days. I don’t know why. I think it must be because I am a white lady and it’s Fall, or something.

Very Healthy Pinterest Recipe

And I am existential mode. I cry a bunch. Recovery from head/neck surgery is not a straight line as the swelling comes and goes (so I am learning). I also am awaiting the results on whether or not they find anything malignant with the tumor. I text, call and harass the Dr’s office nurses like a chick who got the wrong idea on a first date: “TODAY IT LOOKS LIKE THIS! IS THIS NORMAL?!” and “ARE YOU SURE THIS IS NORMAL FOR RECOVERY?” and “HOW CAN THIS FUCKING BE NORMAL?” I am repeatedly assured this is all somehow normal.

Day 3 – Post Op – A Pic I Sent to Sandy, the Nurse at Penn Who Wants to “Bye Felicia” Me but Can’t

My kids, family, boyfriend and boss have been awesome during this time and for this I am eternally thankful. My favorite people, my kids, tell me I am beautiful and dutifully do their homework without the typical complaints. My mom has been by my side the whole time. All kinds of calls and offers have come in from my Dad, Stepmom, Ex-Husband and Friends. After much cajoling from my BFF and Mom I did allow my boyfriend to be there for me which was one of the toughest things about all of this.

My Favorite People

Hot Boyfriend

Once I heal I will plan my race schedule.

Although I have been actively running leading up to this surgery, I have not signed up for any races until I see how this all pans out. I have a bit of an obsession with The Karate Kid (just the first movie, the rest blow) and dramatically imagine my running comeback to be quiet, private with many “paint the fence” type of runs before I crane kick the shit out of whatever race goal I set up for myself.

Through all of this I know it’s not life or death but in my life, this has been the hardest thing I have had to endure from a health standpoint which makes me an EXTREMELY lucky individual. I am very VERY well aware of how fortunate I am. My vanity has taken a back seat. I feel endless gratitude for all my family and friends who have been there during this time who have unflinchingly accepted me and my rampant stubbornness for what we are.

Much of my life I have been so cruel to my own self in many ways but internally critiquing every “flaw” in my face is kind of my jam. So it is here I quit that shit because despite thinking I was too legit, I realize I am not. When you know better, you do better so that’s what I am going to do.

Day 4 – Post Op – Scar and an Extra Chin

Day 4 – Post Op

I don’t know why I am sharing this. Maybe I do feel self-conscious and need to make it public so that when you see me, it won’t be some awkward explanation as to why my face looks like this? Maybe it’s some sort of processing that I need to do? I don’t know.

Either way, as clichéd as this sounds: I am weirdly happy this happened because I have gained a lot from it, so far. Being humbled is one of the best things that can happen to us for it brings great insight. Also, I can’t wait to make and eat Halloween Chex Mix.

Sometimes when we are looking through the viewfinder we know what’s going to happen.

Whether we realize it or not, when we frame the world through our cell phone screen, our mind starts to assess the things happening in the space.

When the situation we are attempting to photograph is more of a moment capturing sort rather than purely aesthetic opinion, there is one thing we can do to make better pictures: Be present , observant and feel what is happening in reality and then find the shot within this.

Keeping our phone away and bringing it out when the moment strikes and then putting the phone back away will greatly improve our images. This process seems counterintuitive as we are typically given the rule to take many images to capture The One. There is a lot of truth in this rule but in our everyday life it makes more sense to live it rather than try and calculate what we want it to look like on our social media.

Seems tough but can be surprisingly easy if we stop trying to make something seem there that actually isn’t. Forcing a moment in a photograph will show exactly that, insincerity.

And technically speaking, things don’t have to be perfect when capturing a moment.

This photo here:

It’s not that sharp. The lighting is ok. However, the moment was captured.

This is not a brag, this is me being there and knowing what was happening and seeing the result. When I shot it, I knew I had it.

The more I ignore my desire to photograph and live within the space, the more I can feel what’s happening and even more so predict what I THINK might happen.

After all, if you’ve seen it happen, then your camera missed it.

The photo above was published in PDN Magazine and earned me a decent chunk of change.

The story of the photo: This image is a document of me reading Mad Libs to my kids for the very first time.

Prior to the shot we were sitting on the stoop as I was asking them the verbs, adjectives and nouns to fill in. The girls were confused and didn’t understand how this was all going to come together, how was this entertaining?

The reason the image is not super sharp: in one hand I was holding the Mad Libs book and reading it while I was shooting with the other hand. This meant I wasn’t as stable as I’d normally be.

My lack of stability occurred because as I started reading I began to see them connect over what they had just done. It clicked for both of them at the same time. The very moment they realized Mad Libs are funny and together they had created the story was the moment I clicked. I wasn’t planning on photographing them at all but instead was there being in that moment simply reading.

And I didn’t know what was going to happen. I sensed what was about to happen because I made myself available to the situation rather than worry about the technical elements of my photography.

That’s not the say we should entirely neglect technicality, but if we are set up enough to expose enough then we are at a great starting point. If I had spent any time adjusting my shutter speed I would’ve missed this moment. I would have had a much sharper picture but the moment would have been gone already.

Another example:

The story of the photo: The kids were at the zoo and I had put my camera away for the day. When my daughter was looking through the window and I noticed the light was perfection. My child was NOT facing me at all and she was buried amongst a mass of other moving children. I could barely see the back of her mop head in the mix.

I do not typically direct my children in front of the camera. Anyone who has tried to do this with any kids knows the result – a forced smiled or perhaps non-cooperation and likely both.

However, I knew if I said her name she was going to turn around and look up.

No, I couldn’t predict how it was going to go and where the children around her would shift for me to even see her turn. Every child was moving and before I said her name I took a calculated guess when the space would open up.

It all happened very quickly. Maybe half a second.

I decided to get my camera out again because even though I was only seeing my daughter from the back, I could feel her pure amazement by her body language. I didn’t have to see her face to know she was in pure joy at this moment. I knew that if I said her name, she would turn and I would see this wonderment in her face.

If shooting casually, especially with your cell phone, there is no need to force moments in photography. Being present and observant doesn’t take any extra time, it maximizes our time and allows for us to be opening to seeing what we are feeling.

If we settle into really being there the photo opportunities sneak up on us in unique and exciting ways. The bonus of shooting less is we get to experience life without seeing it through a cell phone.

Sometimes it’s because I’m drawn to the position my girls have contorted their slumbering bodies in or the composition of how the sheets swim around them.

Other times I take photos of my kids sleeping because I am up so early and when I come into the room the light is perfection.

Choosing this time to pick up the camera can also be because kids look angelic and if my two daughters end up in my bed they may be holding each other, unaware.

Ultimately though, the main reason I am drawn to taking my girls’ picture during their sleep is because I am seeing them in a state that is so very different from when they are awake, existing, doing crazy kid things.

Sleeping children look like they did as babies. Their sweet faces aren’t animated but soft and gentle.

Seeing my sleeping children is a time where I can soak in how they look and really study them, physically, just like I did when they were babies.

New freckles, longer eyelashes, hair that has gotten darker, hands that have gotten bigger – I see my babies growing up and here, when they are asleep, I can see how they’ve physically changed. Simultaneously, I am treated to entirely seeing them as baby they were, memories of our time together flood my mind reminding me of the miracle of it all.

Photographing my sleeping children warms my soul every in way that few things can.

Soul warming first AM is a quick fix for what’s to come that day.

I see my daughters asleep as warm, safe, clean and cared for.

And although nothing is perfect and surely I am messing them up in ways that I can’t pinpoint right now, I know my children are deeply loved and cared for not by just me but their dad and grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and all that in addition to my closest friends.

The warmth and light I feel when I see my daughters snooze is pure, raw gratitude.

No matter what is going on for me personally, taking note of these sleeping children and documenting it makes it so I know that at the very least, these little people who have been entrusted to me will have me as long as I am alive, protecting them at all costs. These times of study are a reminder that I would do anything to keep them safe.

So it is last night, like many others, I came across these Magnus Wennman photographs of Syrian Refugee children sleeping which not only remind me of my sleeping daughters but also of how powerful photography can be. How this power can sometimes be lost amongst our constantly moving instagram feeds.

Despite photography having been around for about 20 years prior to the Civil War, it was only until Civil War photographers brought the public an ability to view the reality of warfare. In fact, while photographs of earlier conflicts do exist, the American Civil War is considered the first major conflict to be extensively photographed.

www.totalgettysburg.com

“Photographers such as Mathew Brady, Alexander Gardner, and Timothy O’Sullivan found enthusiastic audiences for their images as America’s interests were piqued by the shockingly realistic medium. For the first time in history, citizens on the home front could view the actual carnage of far away battlefields. Civil War photographs stripped away much of the Victorian-era romance around warfare.” – Civil War Trust

So as it turns out, viewing the carnage death is a horrifying thing to witness and that no matter what hand we play, we ultimately are connected by our humanity. Seeing this in plain site, unabashedly presented via a still image is something our minds cannot erase.

When we are operating in the day-to-day it’s easy to forget that our pain is not just ours. Somewhere, out there, other people are experiencing the same thing. Just as they are when we are filled with joy. Just as they are when they see their sleeping children.

Thus continued in future wars, photographers headed into the heat of battle, risking their lives to show us how bad things are. Through this work we are forced to look and see our enemy as not faceless beings but easily part of our own human family.

I don’t know the complexities of the Syrian refugee crisis. I do know that our government has decided to take “pause” in assisting via the Syrian Refugee Program due to the terrorist attacks in Paris.

No matter the risk of terrorism it’s tough to imagine the kind of person who could view these images and not connect to the humans within them. You don’t have to be a parent to see the atrocity of this situation and our country’s withdraw as the ultimate form of cowardice.

Where is our courage, after all?

Where is our courage to see?

The personal lens through which we view Wennman’s images are highly individual and specific but that should not matter. These are children.

There is a 2 year old under here. One who has been fleeing with her family for 3 months. One who is trying to sleep in 34 degrees Celsius temps. Her mother only having this thin shaw to keep her daughter warm.

I mean, I don’t even need to see Juliana’s face to know: this is a monstrosity of proportions that is beyond my actual comprehension.

Thankfully we have courageous photographers such Magnus Wennman who are willing to face these catastrophic, other worldly events straight in the eye. These brave image capturers are willing to endure the harsh reality and carry it with them forever to bring us photographs that put rawly on display what is happening.

So it is here we are reminded that photography is a very powerful tool, should we choose to use it with great respect. As viewers it is up to us have the courage look through the mass of images pushed to us every day and have the courage to truly see.

In the Spring of 2005 I sent an email to the Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society offering to volunteer my photography services. Shortly after I received a reply from Melissa Levy, the volunteer director, inquiring about my offer. I suggested that I come to the shelter, set up my gear and photograph as many shelter dogs as I could in one day. With no specific purpose in mind we figured the images eventually could be used for something.

At the time I was newly pregnant, living in South Philadelphia doing animal portraiture on the side. I was working part time in an office, managing various contract based promotions, fresh off the road after being on it for almost 4 solid years. Volunteering was something I wanted to do for a long time but being that I was never in the same town for more than a few nights, opportunity was lacking.

I became excited for the PAWS project but as the day approached I began to realize I had no idea how we were going to get 45 shelter dogs, skittish and scared, to appear the opposite of this.

Sure, I had photographed dogs plenty of times but usually with their guardian-a person who knew them in every way-fears, behavior, preferences…certain looks, gestures, physical details, the type of stuff a family member can appreciate and adore. A roadmap for me, with a point A. Typically I get an hour or two in which to work with the dog – a reasonable time frame for an animal to settle and get comfortable with my presence.

But this? Bringing almost feral-by-situation creatures onto a photo set seemed a bit tricky. Animals that had no family or maybe came from bad ones?

Surely I would somehow figure it out when the time came. Elisabeth Kubler Ross would call this the denial stage of the certain death I was walking myself into.

The day of the PAWS photo shoot I was so ill from morning sickness I was on the verge of vomitting at every turn. It was too early to reveal that I was actually pregnant and I tried my best to pretend like everything was just a-ok thankyouverymuch. This is the fun phase of pregnancy where you feel like death but no one knows it because you don’t look pregnant. Similar to the never-did-this experience of photographing shelter dogs, so was this pregnancy.

When I arrived at the shelter on the morning of the shoot Melissa and I had a talk-we agreed that these images were not to be sad, pathetic or begging. No guilt inducing cheap shots. No softly playing Sarah Mclachlan songs up in here-No way. No how.

Yes. We were going to make these dogs look like heroes. Show them as what they were. Brave, hopeful, adorable-maybe they weren’t in their best place right now but we weren’t going to focus on that.

Besides, aren’t we all in the shit most of time?

This was just a rough patch for these dogs and there was no need to magnify that. To do this I knew I needed to produce images that would show characteristics unique to each dog’s own personality and show off specific physical traits. Things I would do for any of my clients. Things that I would have to swiftly discern on my own in a very brief amount of time.

Oh, and we were going to do these photos without the use of leashes or collars. I added that little curveball in because nothin’ worth doin’ unless it seems insurmountable.

We were going to give the underdog a new name. I was going to photograph the underdog. I was going to BE the underdog and git ‘er done or be there all day and night trying. We were going to give these dogs a voice, through showing their faces in photographs.

Aesthetically speaking? I had a lot of things to consider. Point of view is especially important here. Shooting down on the animal could easily give the appearance of domination and this was to be avoided. Lighting was to be used to highlight expressive eyes. Minimize anything that gives the look of fear or aggression. Be sure to crop in camera or position myself to best hide jutting starved rib cages, extended nipples mauled from overbreeding, hot spots and instead show and focus on floppy ears or a lovely brindle coloring instead of gnarled scars and missing teeth.

Wait. This could be difficult. Hmmm.

Here we were, with my set crammed in the shelter’s tiny socialization room that, to a dog’s nose, is FILLED with the scents and smells of other dogs. A shelter dog, pulled from a pen, who just came from the street was expected to walk in, have a seat, look at my camera and be relaxed, leash and collarless. This was not only a tall order but something that began to seem utterly impossible.

Did I mention we were trying to photograph each dog in under 10 minutes? I had never done any dog portrait in such a teensy amount of time, ever, let alone 45 of them in a row.

Melissa had gathered a few volunteers to help out. As the romanticism of this began to crumble, the concept of what we were trying to do and it’s logistics built up a bricky wall and I began to get nervous. As I set up equipment I could feel my anxiety levels rising which insufferably worked in tandem with the INSANE nausea that plagued my every move. Then, a tiny, asshole-y litle voice spoke in my mind

“Can you do this?”

Melissa, the volunteers, the workers at the shelter were excited about the shoot and expecting me to know what I was doing. But what if I couldn’t? What if reality knocked me on my ass and that no amount of skill or talking could make this work? You can’t reason with a dog. You can’t direct a dog.

“Can you do this?” got louder and louder and then started inviting all it’s friends to the party “You don’t know what you are doing” “These dogs are going to freak out” “You will never pull this off” “Impossible” “Give up”

By the time I was tested and all set up I became possessed with the idea that the task at hand, that is was just that, an idea of a task and nothing more. Execution would surely prove this and I was doomed. I gave up before I began. I prepared myself for ultimate failure. There was no way that I would be able pull this off. BARF IN MY MOUTH.

Then something happened right before the first dog was brought in. A single, strong word poked it’s head through the masses.

“Trust.”

A dog KNOWS when you are scared or anxious and will respond in turn.

If I had ANY chance of making this work I had to be collected, it was the only way I would get any decent photographs. If I were to panic-even internally? The dogs would know it and become erratic and NOT trust me. Trust was the most important thing here.

Equipment, lights, camera, forced eye contact and body language were elements that the dog would need to adjust to, and swiftly. My job was not to take photos but to make the animals trust me, as quickly as possible and then take their photograph. Suddenly, it all made sense and my mind got very quiet.

I would act, not think and this is how I would get the photos I set out to take.

You know what happened? These dogs that I anticipated to be maniacal and spastic? The dogs that I would never be able to capture NOT looking scared or upset?

Most of them were the opposite.

After photographing the first few dogs it became clear that all these animals wanted, were desperate for, was human touch.

The problem we were having mostly was not un-cooperation but TOO much cooperation. Getting the dogs to stop leaning into the handlers, to quit shoving their furry, needy heads under human hands or thrusting their bony bodies onto jean-clad laps became the issue. To prevent the dogs from getting so close to me in their quest for attention became challenging. As soon as I would get on the dog’s level they would charge at me ready for a snuggle.

And as volunteers, the magicians, began casting spells of calmness, kindness, gentle touches and affection the dogs became the most easy going canine subjects I had ever had! Not only had I doubted myself but I also sold my subjects short. Shame on me.

Of course we had the wild dogs and the ones who physically looked starved or sick.I remember one dog had no ears because they were cut off-with kitchen scissors. Finding the light within each dog was the goal and no matter how physically mangled by sad histories I was going to have to look through that.

As each dog came through I got into stride realizing the needs of each, the formula. Who we could push and who needed space. When volunteers should be involved or when everyone should leave the room-just me and the dog to work it out. Who was overstimulated by treats and who would respond wonderfully to snacks. What tricks could I pull out of my sleeve that would get each individual to trust me?

And all of this happened with very little speaking. THAT is the beauty of the human/animal connection. As I snapped my camera it would become clear to me when I got the shot. When the connection was made. It was miraculous. And I was able to photograph every single one. We set an ambitious list because surely, we thought, some won’t work out.

How wrong we were.

A week after the shoot we went through all the images and we decided what was to be done with them. Melissa had, in a minuscule time frame, pulled together resources to get local businesses to do the designing and printing of calendars. Each month was to have a portrait of a shelter dog with their story. Surprisingly we had a hard time picking just ONE image for each month and ended up featuring multiple portraits for some dogs. Taking it a step further, Melissa secured space in The Shops At Liberty Place for a photo auction. Again, prints, mounting and displays all donated to this project.

In 2007 I entered 3 images from this project into the City Hall Likeable Art Exhibition and was pleased to find out that all 3 made it in and would be displayed in the first case, right across from the Mayor’s office.

Every year since, we have done this project. We began doing a cat calendar as well and that is a whole other way of working. I remember being set up at the satellite shelter in a very VERY tiny socialization room where cats were just hanging out while I was photographing other cats. It wasn’t uncommon for a random cat to jump up over the TOP of my background or have a kitty pawing at my synch cord or rub up against my camera lens while I was trying to photograph another cat, again, searching to be just a cat-playful and cuddly.

2 years after that first photo session I would be doing this same photo shoot again but instead at 8 months pregnant with my second child. To see me, beached whale-like, lying on the floor, getting contorted like one has to when photographing a wiggly dog was quite a sight. I knew it was going to be a long day and that it would be hard on my gigantic, exhausted, acid reflux filled body and it was. I was ordered on partial bed rest and definitely rejected doctors orders by taking on the very physical act of photographing these animals.

BUT there was no way I could let any other photographer do the job. This was our project, Melissa and I, to get this calendar out every year.

Every year more calendars are sold and more local Philadelphia businesses carry them in their shops. Many of these images are on display at the PAWS clinic and used for all kinds of marketing purposes including the annual holiday card.

Please consider adoption if you are looking for a dog or cat. This year’s PAWS calendar can be purchased here.

I get these same feminist feelies when I see commercials for cleaning products that make men look like idiots who don’t know how to hold a mop or sandwich baggie ads displaying an incompetent dad failing at simple things like making a sandwich. I know approximately 0 men who are this ridiculous and the caricature of such is an insult to both men and women.

I also get these feminist feelies when my eyes accidentally catch a headline on a “fashion” magazine on the display rack at the grocery check out that reads “32 Ways To Please Your Man In Bed While Doing Yoga In The Kitchen While Making Him A Sandwich And Fashion Tips To Appear Slimmer While Doing It And Also Lose 10lbs”. Again, this type of content in the world is doing none of us any favors. Also, why so many sandwiches?

As a runner who is single, I decided to write my own list of reasons to date a runner.

Reasons To Date A Person Who Runs

Any runner will tell you that everything we do in life can be connected back to running. We don’t mean this in some obsessive way but the general concepts it takes to train for any race or run any distance brings lessons to us that we stick in our pocket to carry around indefinitely.

The fact is, we are people who run, not just runners. Simply because we run doesn’t mean that is all we are. However, there are certain things we do understand pretty consistently that not all non-runners get. These things can hold value in the world of dating.

1-We understand commitment – We pick a race or distance and commit to training for it. We understand what it takes to reach run goals and know the only way to do it is to suck it up and run come hell or highwater.

Much like the Mail Carrier: rain, sleet or snow we are out there delivering the mail and by mail I mean miles.

To runners commitment isn’t an abstract concept, it is a decision that is made whereupon tangible action must be taken regularly to maintain.

This doesn’t mean that we are good at commitment in a relationship, it just means the conscious choice to commit is rooted in a deep understanding of what commitment really means. I call this: The Realness factor. If we commit, we mean it.

2-We know how to be alone – We don’t need other people to occupy our time every second. Through the hours spent training we really get to know ourselves on a deeper level because of all the time we spend on our feet.

The key to any decent dating or relationship scenario is that each individual is just that – an individual. It also makes us appreciate other people more when we get to be with them.

3-We are positive – When we are running a race or tackling a distance, we understand the mind will tell us a lot of things that may or may not be true.

The fact is this: if we plan on finishing a distance we must choose to ignore the negative voice. To listen to the hater in our heads will murder any chance we have of reaching our goals.

Whether we like it or not we are forced to connect with the upside of things as much as possible. This means when the chips are down we welcome the opportunity to turn it around.

4-Performance trumps appearance – Have you ever seen a lady runner pull over and check her make up or a guy runner stop to put on deodorant or fix his hair during a run? I didn’t think so.

Yes, we do plan our cute run outfits, maybe wear make up, get manicures but the reality is we kinda like being dirty, sweaty and maybe bloody if possible. We think this is attractive.

Running feels primal because it is and the socially defined “nasty factor” is one we kind of sort of like. When you make a date with us we appreciate cleaning up well while simultaneously being up for pretty much anything and tend to place value on experience vs appearance.

5-Stamina and endurance – Do I need to explain why this might be a good skillset? I didn’t think so.

6-We take responsibility for our own actions and choices – When running it’s important to be aware of body functioning, nutrition, gear and other runners on the course. Any misstep can have dire results. Being tuned into this we know how to own our “stuff” instead of putting it on everyone else.

7-We know how to fail – We have failed many times during our runs. We fail big and small pretty consistently.

Failure can come in the form of something as simple as not bringing enough water or wearing the wrong socks.

We are comfortable with failing and this not only keeps us motivated to learn and grow but checks our egos on a regular basis.

Experiencing this much failure regularly makes us more empathetic and kind of in love with imperfection. Since none of us are perfect, everybody wins.

8 – Butts – Our butts are good and we love looking at everyone else’s butt. We can really appreciate a good butt and will compliment your butt until we make you feel weird about it. Butts. Can I write butt one more time? Who doesn’t like a good butt? BUTT.

If you feel so inclined, you are welcome to comment and share your reasons for dating a runner.

Two years after getting sober I hit a mental rock bottom that began to affect my ability to mother my children.

Feeling utterly helpless in a way I had never experienced before it occurred to me that instead of thinking while sitting, I could think while moving.

I had finally submitted to the thoughts, waved the white flag after realizing I couldn’t overpower that which was dominating me for most of my life. I was 35 years old and was losing, hard.

Drowning in a sea of thoughts that I knew were untruths brought me to a moment where one believable concept quietly floated to the surface:

No matter how bad I feel in my head, I have a body that can take action. Action has no thought behind it at all. Moving my body doesn’t require thinking, it requires doing.

The only thing I knew how to do physically was run. And by “run” I mean put sneakers on and try to mimic the movement of running which I had seen other people do.

The week I started running I came across this vintage Nike shirt at Salvation Army.

I committed to running every day no matter what. In the beginning weeks I would sleep in the Nike shirt every night so that in the morning it would be the first thing that I would see in the mirror. I couldn’t think anymore and it was relief to rely on a t shirt to tell me what I needed to do.

20 lbs ago this shirt used to fit me.

Being a mom always comes first. When I started running, in between caring for my girls, I began to grab moments to run everyday. When The Mom Guilt hit about leaving them to run I reminded myself I was utterly useless to everyone if I couldn’t take care of my basic needs.

Running became a basic need. Running became a requirement.

Running became my medication and over time I began to heal.

Mt. Laundry got bigger, the sink’s crowd of dirty dishes hung around longer and the elaborate family meals I prepared and thought were important became simpler.

Everything became simpler.

Through these years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds spent running I remember accountability is the only home base that exists. I remember that when I am suffering physically, being present is the only option. I remember the control I think I have is mirage. I remember that my mental suffering is created by my body chemistry as well as my emotional mindset and although it will never disappear, I make a choice to engage in which I choose to believe.

When I started running I was forced to be with alone with no available distraction and began to befriend myself, a lifelong stranger, or so it turned out.

Nice to meet you, self. We have a lot of miles to go before we get to know each other.

Running is a practice. To go for a run is an act that I can do to keep on-track in my non-running life. My runs are something to recall when the anxious thoughts make their way through my brain every day.

Because of running I have learned to ask for help and lucky me has a family who gladly oblige. Without them I wouldn’t be able to run at all.

It’s not perfect.

I give up a lot to be on my feet. I work odd hours around it. I pass on dating opportunities and social functions to fit training in. I am the sweaty weirdo who shows up to meet friends for dinner and gross-out the table.

I get up at 5:30am every morning.

I have a lot more stinky laundry to do.

I nap a lot.

My body hurts A LOT.

I run-nerd out my social media like it’s my job.

My apartment is a little bit messier. My car smells like a gym locker. I have too many running shoes for a person with one tiny closet. I eat a little lighter on the weeks that I have to purchase running gear.

When her sister starts preschool a day before her first day of Kindergarten, I get to spend a rare few hours alone with my six year old. I ask my oldest daughter what she’d like to do. I list all The Greats: the beach, kids’ museum, the movies, toy shopping etc. and she only says one thing “I want to run with you, mommy”.

So my daughter and I run.

The kid is fast. She stops though to pick up rocks along the way and insist I carry them with me. Inevitably she falls and cries. I scoop her up, hug her, kiss her and tell her that I know it hurts. I show her my boo-boos, scrapes and bruises.

“Sometimes we feel like we are the only ones but all of us walk around with these little boo-boos but we aren’t alone. See?”

We get up and keep moving.

I have been running for 3 years, have run one street marathon, two 50ks and will run a very challenging 50 mile race in the Fall.

In truth I am not a person who signs up for a lot of races. I spend far more time “training” than I do do racing. This is because I don’t run to race, I run to live.

In photography there are certain defined rules (more on this another time). You may be thinking that rules are for suckers and to a point I agree. I mean we should do what we want, rules be damned! Eff the rules!

However, how will we know what rules to break if we don’t know what the rules are?

Also, isn’t it rather limiting to not allow ourselves access to ALL the tools available so we may add them to our creativity kit?

Whatever it is that you are photographing, you can markedly improve upon the resulting image by consciously engaging in making a better picture.

By consciously engaging I mean paying attention to certain things whether they fall tightly within or well outside the standard rules of photography.

BUT we, as humans, don’t like change so we tend to stay well within our comfort zone. This is because it’s, well, comfortable.

If it ain’t broke, right?

It doesn’t take any more time to shift out of our comfort zone when it comes to photography. It’s a mental awareness to what we are doing in the moment. It is a conscious decision to be thoughtful about our viewpoint in creating images. This can feel uncomfortable, which we hate.

The thing about moving outside that which is comfortable, in any part of our lives, is there is a tendency for this mindset to leak into many other areas of our lives.

Even small shifts can nudge the bigger stuff in the direction of stepping outside that comfort zone.

Did you know one of the keys to happiness is doing something new every day?

“Happiness is the consequence of what we do and how we behave. So when a person who is unhappy shifts their focus and does something different they help themselves to become happier. Trying to think yourself happier is difficult, happiness comes when you change what you do.” – Ben C. Fletcher D. Phil., Oxon for Psychology Today

It may seem ridiculous to think that changing how we approach our smart phone photography and social media posting as something that can have an effect on the rest of our lives but if practiced, it can.

Social media and the sharing of our lives in this capacity has made it so we become motivated by “likes” and validated through what we post. It establishes us as an individual who is “doing cool stuff.”

So the question is, are we doing something BECAUSE we plan to post about it later on social media?

If we look deeply most of us can probably answer “sometimes, yea.”

Is this a bad thing?

Not necessarily.

If posting a photo of your hike motivates you to get out and DO the hike then that can be a good thing.

Things do get into sticky territory though when we aren’t living in the experience because we are too concerned with documenting it. Getting out there is one thing; being in the moment is another.

I don’t fall into this trap too much anymore not because I am some Zen-like person but because practicing photography for all these years has made it so I am very aware of the difference between a camera being in front of my face vs. not.

However, it can be really difficult for me to NOT take a photo especially with the handiness of my cell phone.

The documenting of a moment vs. being present in the moment alters our life experience and if it becomes a series of only documenting then this can be damaging to our self-esteem. It can also dampen our creativity which affects the images we produce.

This is because validation is also another human need. When we rely on others to let us know how great we are, our confidence becomes dependent on outsiders. This is living in a prison of self-doubt because it is not possible for us to have 100% positive opinions from everybody all the time.

Maybe this seems a little over the top.

However, if you think about every day and what we are posting on social media, day after day, checking for “likes” and comments it’s easy to see how we can get wrapped up in achieving validation from others.

If we are frantically taking photos for the sole purpose of documenting to post on our social media we are closing off our creative mindset. We are not allowing ourselves to slow down and really think about what the images we are creating.

When we begin to photograph with a specific mindset then we begin to notice the difference in the images that we produce. Meaning, if we step outside of the concept of photographing for sharing purposes, our photographic voice can begin to reach multi dimensions.

A great way to expand our creative photo voice is take note of the images that we are drawn to and think about why we connect with them. Having awareness in this helps us to approach our images in a more thoughtful manner.

There is nothing inherently wrong with photographing something for the pure sake of social media posting. This is fun!

There is also nothing wrong with photographing from a purely creative standpoint and not worrying about if it will be shared.

Acknowledging there is a difference between the two will certainly bring more intention to the images we create which puts us on the fast track to opening up our creativity.